


Cherry Red

by scribblemoose



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-27
Updated: 2004-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose





	Cherry Red

"There it is!"

Omi ran across the laboratory towards the computer screen with what could only be described as glee.

Yohji's heart sank. "So we're not done, then?" he said, plaintively.

"This is what we came for, Yohji-kun!" Omi had already hacked his way past the first layer of security and was poised to delve into the guts of whatever new virtual monster he'd found. "Just be patient."

"And don't touch anything," added Aya.

"As if." Yohji reached out a hand towards a cabinet full of very dodgy-looking pickled things in specimen jars, watching Aya bristle out of the corner of his eye.

Aya treated him to a brief but vicious glare.

Yohji sniggered, hitching himself up onto the bench behind him, locking his bootheels into a handy stool.

"And no smoking," said Aya, as Yohji reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes.

This was no fun.

"How many of these labs do you think Masafumi had?" Ken peered over Omi's shoulder at the data streaming down the screen as Omi downloaded it, one hand casually brushing the back of his feather-soft hair.

"At least a dozen, according to Manx," said Omi, leaning back, just a little, into the touch.

"And we only found three so far," said Ken. "This is going to take a while."

Yohji sighed.

He hated labs. They smelt funny, that odd sulphurous odour that reminded him of school, and in Masofumi's case, they reeked of abomination too. The whiteboards were covered with diagrams of things with more tentacles than Yohji could count, and the benches were covered with apparatus bearing the stains of unknown but almost certainly unsavoury contents. Vials of liquids were ranged on shelves in a rainbow of colours, none of them natural.

"How much longer?"

Aya glared at him.

"I'm doing my best," said Omi.

"Well, do it faster, kid. I've got a date tonight."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Ken exploded, as Yohji had rather hoped he would. Ken-baiting could get dangerous, but at least it passed the time. "Leave Omi alone!"

"I'd have thought you'd be impatient to get back too," said Yohji with a smirk. "So you and Omi could make some more of those interesting noises you were practising last night. You know, the ones that got all the local cats excited."

True to form, Ken growled, and lunged at him.

"Hey, careful," said Yohji, dodging the first blow and raising an arm to block the second. "We don't want any accid-"

Ken threw a third punch, and Yohji ducked and twisted, tried to get to his feet. But his foot caught around the leg of the stool, and before he knew it he was sprawling on the floor.

There was a loud shattering noise as Ken's fist flew through the space where Yohji's face had been, meeting instead with the cabinet, crashing through the glass to wreck the containers within.

Yohji folded his arms swiftly over his face to protect himself from the lethal shards that rained down on him, and yelped.

"Enough!" Aya bellowed. "Baka!"

Yohji hoped that was directed solely at Ken, but he doubted it.

"Oh shit," said Ken. "Man, are you alright?"

"Are you hurt, Yohji-kun?" Omi was kneeling beside him, brushing glass out of the way with a rag.

"Fine." Yohji slowly moved his arms away and sat up, shaking debris off various parts of his body. "Nothing broken, see? And we were going to wreck this place anyway, right? Kenken was just giving us a head start, and... ew!"

Something was trickling down his neck, red and sticky. Damn. Yohji swiped a finger through it and drew it to his nose to sniff, expecting blood. He'd kill Ken if there was a scar.

"Oh," he said in surprise. "Cherries."

"Careful, Yohji-kun." Omi pulled a wad of cottonwool out of his pocket and started dabbing at Yohji's neck. "We don't know what that is."

"It's alright, I'm not that stupid," he said, wiping fingers on the sleeve of his coat. "It doesn't hurt or anything. It'll be fine."

"I'll take this for analysis, just in case." Omi carefully dropped the stained cotton into a plastic bag, and sealed it up. Yohji shrugged, and looked up at Aya, who was gazing down on him with something that could only be described as disdain.

Yohji raised a limp hand. "Help me up, Ayan?"

Aya snorted, and stalked away.

* * * * * * *

Damn Yohji for being so reckless. And damn Ken for being so easily wound up.

Imbeciles, the pair of them, brawling like teenagers in the middle of a mission.

Aya snipped another cutting off the begonia; clean and swift, a perfect diagonal slice. He dipped the raw end in rooting powder, holding it gently by one quivering leaf.

It was nothing new, of course. Which made it all the more aggravating.

He placed the cutting in a small potful of his own special mix of compost, and settled it in with one firm finger. A tiny smile of satisfaction crept across his face as he added the pot to the row on the shelf above the bench. There was something very pleasing about creating new life from old like that, especially as the parent plant would thrive so much better without the stems he'd removed.

Aya began to tidy things away. As much as he loved the peace and quiet of the greenhouse, with its heady scent of earth and growing things, it was getting light, and would soon be time to open the shop with Omi. He didn't suppose Yohji would be joining them 'til mid morning, at the earliest; he'd been off on some date last night, and Aya wasn't even sure if he'd come home.

Which didn't bother him. In the slightest. No. Not one bit.

He sprayed a fine mist over the little plantlets, and left the sanctuary of the greenhouse behind, for now, at least.

* * * * * * *

In fact it was close to midday by the time Yohji managed to get himself out of bed, in and out of the shower, and standing, blinking, in front of his wardrobe. He searched in vain for an outfit that would cover up the give-away bruises on his neck. He was all out of turtlenecks, and none of his collar shirts came up high enough. Oh well, there was nothing for it. He picked the button-down with the stiffest collar, and turned it up as best he could. So what if everyone knew he'd got lucky last night? He had a reputation to maintain, after all.

He might even make Aya jealous, if he was lucky.

Yohji lived in hope, however slim.

He pulled on the new jeans he'd invested in the previous weekend: snug, green-black and low enough to show off his flat belly to perfection. It was a shame to put an apron over it all, really, but he was supposed to be at work. And he was an hour late already.

Yohji stopped admiring his reflection, snagged his hair into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck, and headed for the stairs, lighting a cigarette on the way. His throat was a little sore, not surprising after spending half the night in a smoky club, but his craving for the first nicotine of the day was stronger than his discomfort.

Aya greeted him with his usual accusatory glare, Omi with a cheerful hello, and Ken not at all, as he was apparently absent. He must be on deliveries, Yohji reasoned. Probably the deliveries he had been scheduled to make himself, in fact.

Ah well, he could make it up to Kenken later. There was a big soccer match coming up at the stadium soon; with Yohji's contacts getting tickets would be easy. The perfect date for Ken and the chibi. Not that Omi liked football much, but Yohji had a strong suspicion that any excuse to get Ken to himself for a few hours would go down well.

Yohji threw a smile at Momoe-san as he entered the shop, collected the list of arrangements that had been allocated to him, and settled down at the worktable. A couple of hours yet before the fangirl rush; plenty of time to sit and watch Aya's butt and dream lecherous, impossible dreams.

"Have I missed anything?" he said, laying out orchids and fern on the table.

"Work," said Aya. "As usual."

About Grade 3 on the gruffness scale. Positively laid back, for Aya.

"Aya had a letter from Aya-chan," said Omi, setting a mug of coffee down in front of Yohji with a beaming smile. "She's passed all her first year exams. She's coming back to Tokyo next month!"

"Great news," said Yohji, darting a sidelong glance to Aya. Not missing the slight twitch in Aya's cheek that showed his pride. "You'll be pleased to see her, Aya. It's been a while."

"Yes," said Aya, softly, and busied himself putting fresh change into the cash register. He didn't talk much about Aya-chan, even now; but when she cropped up in conversation Yohji often caught that unusually gentle expression in Aya's eyes. He didn't take her for granted, ever.

Yohji felt a little rush of affection, and wished he could show it. But Aya just wasn't that kind of guy.

So Yohji left it at that and lost himself for a while with the flowers, deft fingers setting delicate stems in oasis, binding them with wire and dark green ribbon. When he was in the mood, Yohji enjoyed working on arrangements, and this was one of those occasions.

"Beautiful."

Yohji looked up, startled. "Aya?"

Aya was standing next to him, and one finger reached out to gently trace the outline of the orchid at the centre of Yohji's display. "Um." He looked suddenly flustered. "Good. Arrangement. Nice specimen."

And with that, he scurried away. Yohji couldn't be certain, but he thought he might have seen the barest hint of a flush on his cheeks.

How odd.

When Aya reappeared, he was carrying a cloth and a bottle of window-cleaner. He started polishing the glass shopfront, with considerable energy. While Yohji found that surprising, as window-cleaning was something Aya usually did calmly, and to get out of having to serve customers, there was also the gratifying prospect of being able to watch him do it. A moving, stretching Aya, who occasionally bent over to reach the very bottom of the window, was pleasant eye candy, to say the least. Yohji worked on happily, one eye on his arrangement and the other on Aya's butt and flexing muscles, until he heard the approaching chatter that told him school had turned out.

It occurred to him that Aya had been cleaning the window for a very long time. But then, the man was known for his perfectionism.

The shop was suddenly full of teenage girls, each of them lovely and devoted, and far, far too young. Yohji flirted happily as usual, breaking hearts with every flutter of his eyelashes. He even managed to sell some flowers.

Kudoh Yohji was having a good day.

And then Manx arrived.

* * * * * * *

Aya blinked at the plasma screen across the other side of the mission room, his eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden gloom after the brilliant sunshine of the shop. He leaned forwards in his chair, and tried to concentrate on what Manx was saying. But his eyes kept returning to Yohji's neck, and the tell-tale marks that lay there.

It was about time he and Yohji had a little talk. His womanising was getting out of control again, and it was clearly a threat to the team. It couldn't be tolerated.

"Can you take care of that, Aya?"

Startled, he turned to Manx and blinked.

"The security guards for the lab," said Manx. "They need to be stunned. Is that okay?"

"Of course," said Aya, trying to clear the sudden fog in his head and focus on the mission.

"More labs?" Yohji whined.

"This one appears to be a little different from Masafumi's other operations." Manx tucked an errant strand of red hair behind her ear and favoured Yohji with a smile. "The funds for this particular facility come directly from Eszett - or so it would appear. Our intelligence suggests that Masafumi was involved in some kind of collaborative project with their scientists."

"That's scary," said Ken.

"What kind of project?" asked Aya, determined to focus on the briefing, and not on Yohji's neck, or the flirtatious glances he appeared to be sharing with Manx, or the fact that Ken and Omi's hands were touching as they sat together on the big leather sofa.

"Good question," said Manx, raising one eyebrow. "Think you can find out?"

He must have missed that part. Fuck, he never missed things. What was wrong with him?

"How long since the lab was in use?" asked Yohji. "Are there likely to be any nasty surprises hanging around?" His voice sounded rough and a little husky, Aya noticed. At least he was suffering from his night of excess; maybe there was some justice in the world after all. Although he hoped he wasn't getting sick. Yohji was insufferable when he was ill.

"Hard to tell. A year, maybe two. I'm sure you can cope," said Manx, with a wry smile.

Yohji returned the smile with a leer he probably thought was seductive. "Of course. Forewarned is forearmed, is all. Unexpected shocks are bad for the nerves."

"All the information you need to get started is in the files. So, unless there are any further questions, you can go." She lay a hand on Yohji's arm. "Except for Balinese. You and I need to talk."

Aya saw Yohji's face drop. Obviously word had got back about his and Ken's irresponsible brawl on their last mission. He was in trouble.

Aya left the briefing room with a smile on his face.

* * * * * * *

Yohji had hoped that Omi might not have felt the need to include yesterday's little incident in his report to Kritiker, especially considering his boyfriend's involvement. It would appear, however, that his newly found relationship with Ken had not bestowed any great powers of discretion upon him.

Yohji leaned back in his chair and prepared himself for a telling-off. Reminded suddenly of a younger version of himself, who had all too often been held back after class for a reprimand and extra work. Although none of his teachers had been as gorgeous as Manx.

Or as unattainable.

"So. Balinese." Manx hitched herself up to sit on the arm of the sofa just next to him, crossing one long, lovely leg over the other. "I hear you've been a very naughty boy."

She blinked slowly, long lashes fluttering.

"Yes," Yohji said, overcoming his shock at the touch of her hand to his arm just in time to switch on his sexiest smile. "Are you gonna punish me?"

She gave him a wicked look, and sucked the tip of her pencil thoughtfully. "The question really, is how should I punish you," she said. "Don't you think?"

Yohji blinked. He was speechless. If he didn't know better, he'd think Manx was coming on to him.

She wound her tongue around the tip of her pencil, keeping eye contact with him all the time.

She was definitely coming on to him.

"Well, Kudoh?"

"I have been quite naughty," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "I broke things."

Manx pulled the pencil from her mouth with a pop. It had bright red lipstick smeared all over it. Yohji was transfixed.

Somehow he'd had the audacity to put a hand on her thigh, and it hadn't been brushed away. But before he could plan his next reckless step towards summary rejection, Manx had pushed him back in his chair and was settling herself in his lap, her soft, soft mouth covering his, the agile little tongue that still tasted slightly of that lucky pencil slipping between his lips.

Yohji groaned softly, decided that he must have nodded off during the briefing and that this was clearly a dream, and surrendered himself wholeheartedly to it.

"You smell good," Manx murmured, her lips brushing his throat.

"So do you." Yohji threaded his fingers through her hair, stroking the crimson curls over her shoulders and back. "You know, if this is where being naughty gets me, I ought to try it more often."

She made a dismissive little noise, and her fingers snaked down to his fly. "As if you're ever anything but naughty," she murmured. "You're a bad, bad boy..."

She found his zipper and ripped it down, fast enough to make Yohji's eyes water. This was a good dream. He hoped he wouldn't wake up to find himself face to face with the real Manx, who looked upon Yohji with a sort of affectionate disdain, and would never dream of...

"Fuck me, Yohji. I need it, now. Fuck me good and we'll say no more of that... incident, okay?"

Something at the back of Yohji's mind reminded him that his dreams weren't like this; that they were far more complicated and miserable, and anyway he was quite clearly awake. But he ignored it, and ran his hands up Manx's thighs, smoothing her tiny skirt up to bunch around her waist, hoping desperately that it wasn't some kind of practical joke.

She groaned, her hand wrapping around his stiff cock and pulling it free of his jeans. "Shit," she murmured. "You're so hard..."

"And you're all wet," he observed, pushing her panties to one side and stroking, finding the tiny nub of her clit with his thumb and rubbing gently. She made an odd little cooing noise and surged up on her knees, holding the root of his cock in her fist as she impaled herself on it.

A little more rushed than Yohji usually went for, admittedly. Especially with someone who had been the stuff of his fantasies for nigh on three years. But he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, either, and it felt damn good, sinking into slick heat, soft as butter. He pushed her shirt up and released the front catch on her bra to free her breasts, sucked on one pink nipple as she started to ride him.

She moved slowly at first, giving him a chance to catch her rhythm before she sped up. She rested her hands lightly on his shoulders, eyes closed, tiny gasps escaping her lipstick-smeared mouth. Yohji was content to let her do the fucking, rocking his hips gently to meet her, stroking and licking here and there to spread the pleasure. He listened to her breath, holding back for the moment when it got ragged and the gasps turned to throaty cries, then thrust harder as she ground against him, filling herself with him and rubbing frantically against his fingers.

She threw her head back when she came, and screamed; Yohji closed his eyes and took his own pleasure, long and deep and satisfying. By the time he'd recovered, her head was resting on his shoulder; she twisted a strand of his hair around her index finger, and he could tell that she was smiling.

"Damn, that was good," he said, his voice thick and husky. "You know, I never thought that would happen. Ever."

"No," she said.

"I mean, I didn't even think you liked me, not really."

"I didn't," said Manx, dropping a kiss to his shoulder. "Not that way. I'm a lesbian, after all."

Yohji blinked. "What?"

"I only do girls," said Manx.

The grin that spread across Yohji's face could only be described as smug.

* * * * * * *

Aya stuffed his arms into the sleeves of his mission-coat, scowling at his reflection in the mirror.

It was going to be a long and difficult night, he could tell. More than anything, Aya wanted some time alone. He longed to curl up in a chair with a book, preferably away from Yohji and his insufferable grinning.

Aya had no desire to know what had gone on in the mission room after they'd left Yohji and Manx alone. For all he knew Yohji was doing this just to wind the rest of them up when in fact he'd got the thorough dressing-down he deserved. But Aya didn't think so. An injured Yohji acted injured, in his experience. This was a Yohji who had got lucky.

Aya's fist tore clean through the lining of his coat, rending silk with a loud rip.

Fuck. He fumbled with his sleeve for a moment before he finally managed to get his coat on, the ruined lining bunching uncomfortably around his elbow. Fuck fuck fuck.

Aya closed his eyes and counted slowly to twenty. Damn Yohji and his exploits, it didn't matter. Didn't matter at all, so long as he did his job, and to Yohji's credit he didn't usually stuff that up too badly.

"Aya! I've got the data you wanted!" Omi called up the stairs. "Shall I print out the map?"

"Yes," Aya yelled back. "And tell Yohji to hurry up! We leave in five minutes!"

"I'm all ready, Aya."

Aya jumped at the sound of Yohji's voice; he was standing in the doorway of Aya's room, still wearing that insufferable grin.

"Fuck, Kudoh-"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"You didn't," said Aya, too quickly. "I was just... not expecting you to be there."

Yohji just kept grinning.

"I don't want a repeat of yesterday's performance," said Aya. "If you don't behave-"

"You'll get Manx to reprimand me again?" suggested Yohji. "That would be nice."

"No," snapped Aya. "Next time I'll do it myself."

Yohji raised an eyebrow and in that moment Aya would have done anything to be able to snatch the words back. Anything.

"Don't be an idiot," he said. "You know what I meant."

"Of course, Aya," said Yohji mildly. "I understand."

Aya felt an odd fluttering sensation in his guts. He glared at Yohji all the harder, turning his embarrassment to anger as best he could. "Let's go." He pushed past Yohji into the hallway.

"Anything you say," said Yohji, and followed him.

They gathered around the table in the shop, where Omi had spread out the map of the lab. Aya was only too pleased to push his little encounter with Yohji to the back of his mind in order to concentrate on the task at hand, explaining carefully how they were to subdue the security guards, split up and then search for the lab.

Out of the corner of his eye, Aya noticed Yohji tucking strands of long blond hair behind his ears; noticed how his lower lip was a little damp from where he'd been sticking his tongue out a tiny bit, the way he did when he was concentrating.

Aya felt that odd fluttering sensation in his belly again; he was light-headed too. Damn. He couldn't afford to get sick right now. Not with Aya-chan due back and all these missions to complete. He took a few deep breaths, and to his relief his head cleared.

"Are you alright, Aya-kun?"

Omi's concerned blue gaze shone up at him. Damn. "I'm fine," he snapped. "Does everyone understand what to do?"

The others nodded and muttered in the affirmative.

"Right then. Let's get this over with."

Aya folded the map, and with a final glance in Yohji's direction, led them out into the night.

* * * * * * *

The security guards were bored and slow and more than easy to deal with. Aya concluded that they can't have expected much action; things had probably been quiet around the lab for a while. Their office was littered with the debris of long nights with not enough to do: magazines, cards and a video playing on the cameras intended for surveillance. A porn video, to be precise. Much to Yohji's amusement.

And of course, it was Yohji who kept stealing Aya's attention. The deftness of his fingers as he tied the guard up; the way his hair fell across his cheek and tickled his nose, making him toss his head; eyes half-closed in a blink for an instant, lips lightly parted to reveal even white teeth and the very tip of his tongue...

"Ready, Aya?"

"Yes," he said. "It's time to split up. Hurry up, Yohji."

Yohji gave his knots a final tug. "All done."

* * * * * * *

As Aya had explained in the briefing, they each took one of the four possible routes to the lab. Yohji's destination proved to be nothing more than a locker room, long since abandoned by the look of it. Dented metal lockers lined the walls, doors left hanging open, still hoarding long forgotten towels and rumpled labcoats. In the centre of the room were two rows of benches, and moonlight shafted down from a skylight to catch sharp edges of wood and metal.

Yohji set about picking over the contents of the lockers for information, for anything that Omi could use. Truth be told, he was glad he hadn't struck the lab. He wasn't in the mood. Ken was grating on his nerves, and while Omi's concern for his health had been flattering, his questions had started to weird him out. And as for Aya...

Aya was weirdest of all. Yelling at him one minute, staring at him the next. Maybe fucking Manx had been a mistake after all. He supposed it was bound to unsettle the team, a bit like sleeping with the boss...

But damn, it had been good.

And then, just as Yohji was enjoying the delicious memory of Manx's body writhing in his lap, that part of his brain that always seemed to be on watch chimed in with a warning.

There was a sudden draft from above; he caught a glimpse of red hair and flung his wire, neatly catching Schuldig's gun and tossing it to the floor. Schuldig was still too fast for him, though; before his weapon hit the ground he had Yohji slammed against the lockers, fingers tightening round his throat.

"And what do we have here?"

A rhetorical question, Yohji assumed, seeing as he could barely breathe, let alone speak.

"Balinese," Schuldig continued. "See, I'm so lucky. I always get the pretty one."

Shit. A trap, then. Not like Aya to miss that one - but then, he'd been in cloud cuckoo land all day.

"Yes, distracted, isn't he? Such a busy mind, your Abyssinian, and his thoughts so full of you."

/Bullshit./

Yohji struggled a little, mostly to put Schuldig off the scent of his real reaction to that piece of news.

"I swear it's true. You wouldn't believe the nasty things he'd like to do to you. You Weiss boys are so entertaining. Quite the soap opera you have there, the four of you." Schuldig leaned in close, his lips brushing Yohji's ear.

"You are so fucked, Balinese."

Yohji made his move then, a swift knee to Schuldig's stomach and a flash of wire and he was free to gulp in air.

"Is that an offer, bastard?"

"You wish." But there was an odd glint in Schuldig's eyes, and he wasn't fighting back. The tiny hairs on the back of Yohji's neck stood up; this was dangerous. He kept his eyes fixed on Schuldig's, but as always the man was too damn fast for him; Yohji's back slammed against the lockers again, wrists caught and held firm above his head. Shit.

"I prefer my men a little less violent, come to think of it," he said.

That odd look in Schuldig's eyes again, and then he was moving in, and Yohji braced himself for a knee to the groin, but it didn't come. Instead a hot mouth pressed a savage kiss to his lips, and the thigh that forced its way between his legs stopped well short of target. Oblivious to the concept of enemy, Yohji's sex stiffened. Traitor.

The kiss got less savage, and Yohji realised he was kissing back. Not a bad plan; he badly needed the element of surprise, and with Schuldig you had to take every chance you got to turn the tables.

"How interesting," murmured Schuldig, his thigh pressing firmly and not unpleasantly into Yohji's groin.

The question was, when exactly to take control of the situation? Yohji had no idea what Schuldig was up to here, only that it felt uncommonly good. It shouldn't. Schuldig was their enemy, he was evil and cruel and everything that Yohji hated, only-

He was sliding down Yohji's body, muttering something in German against his chest and belly, releasing Yohji's hands as he sank to his knees.

Oh shit.

Damn.

Fuck.

Yohji looked down, lowering his aching arms as Schuldig nuzzled the hardening ridge of flesh in Yohji's too-tight pants.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He gasped out.

"Getting you ready for the best blow job you ever had," muttered Schuldig. He sounded as if he begrudged what he was doing, as if Yohji didn't deserve it, but his fingers tore into Yohji's pants as if he couldn't get down to it fast enough.

Yohji had to confess, this brought a whole new meaning to the element of surprise.

He should protest, he knew he should, and after all he had the advantage; Schuldig was on his knees in front of him, for fuck's sake, all he had to do was raise one foot and the man would have a boot in his chest and he could kill him-

"Or you could have a little fun first," said Schuldig, fishing Yohji's stiff cock out of the slit in his boxers. "What d'you say, Balinese? I can tell you're excited. It's not every day you get a chance like this. No-one'll ever know. And afterwards you can try and kick my ass, if it'll make you feel better."

"Bastard," said Yohji, with his last shred of resolve.

Schuldig just laughed.

And the next thing Yohji knew, his sex was being engulfed, cushioned on wet tongue and gripped by firm, knowing lips. It had to be a trap. There was a flutter of unease in his belly at letting his enemy get so close, letting himself be so vulnerable. But Yohji hadn't survived this long by giving in to fear, and the spice of danger had its rewards. So he thrust into Schuldig's mouth, rewarded by the clench of hands on his hips, a growl deep in the other man's throat. Schuldig sucked him deeper, and deeper, swallowing him without hesitation. He'd closed his eyes, and it started to seem less like a trap, and more like pleasure.

Yohji pressed forwards the last inch, and sank his fingers into Schuldig's hair, holding him still to be fucked.

"Get your dick out," he said. "Like the wanker you are."

Not one of his best lines, to be sure, but it seemed to have the desired effect on Schuldig. His eyes shot open, glinting with what looked like lust, and he obeyed, unzipping his pants with one hand while the other still clutched Yohji's hip. His cock was long and slender, the foreskin drawn back to reveal a glistening head. In other circumstances Yohji might have liked to return the favour Schuldig was so oddly bestowing on him.

"Open wide," said Yohji, and started to fuck Schuldig's mouth, not gently, fingers knotted in bright red hair. Schuldig looked up at him all the while, eyes dark with lust, never once flinching. He didn't move his hand much on his own cock, nothing frenzied or uncontrolled about it, more of a clenching and unclenching of his body, a rolling rhythm that seemed to be getting him off just fine.

Yohji didn't dare take his time; danger was a pleasure best taken in short bursts, and besides, it felt so good, so wicked, so downright nasty. He couldn't take his eyes of Schuldig's cock, swelling and dripping in his hand, and the instant he saw the first spurt of white fly from the end, Yohji released himself down Schuldig's throat. If he was going to share this one most vulnerable moment, he sure as fuck wasn't going to let Schuldig have the advantage of it. He kept watching as he came, Schuldig drinking down his semen with relish as his own spattered the floor between Yohji's feet.

Yohji slumped back against the locker, gasping for breath, pushing Schuldig away with a shove to his shoulder that sent him sprawling back on his ass, a broad grin spreading across his lips nonetheless. There was a blob of come on his chin.

"Yohji-kun!"

What the fuck?

"Omi!" Yohji squeaked, shoving his dick back in his pants as fast as he could. Omi blinked at him just once before a fistful of darts flew through the air - not at him, thank God, but at Schuldig. Of course. Their enemy. Still a target.

Guilt crept over Yohji like a shadow. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

* * * * * * *

Schuldig dodged the darts with ease, and wisely chose to beat a hasty retreat, leaping up easily to the skylight he had entered from, blowing a kiss to Yohji over his shoulder as he did so.

Damn, but Yohji wished that he could move that fast. As it was he'd barely made himself decent, and there was no hope of running away from Omi's unrelenting, disappointed glare.

"Omi, it's not what you-"

"Run!" Omi yelled. "Quick!"

Yohji gave a single startled blink before he raced up the passageway after Omi, catching up with him just as they reached the entrance. Skidding around the corner on smooth tile to see Aya and Ken ahead of them, sprinting for the Porsche.

By the time Yohji reached the car himself he was gasping to pull air into his lungs. He flung himself into the passenger seat as Aya pulled away, panting for the breath to ask exactly what they were running from.

He got the answer without uttering a single word; before they'd reached the main road there was an explosion big enough to make his ears ring.

"Fuck," he said. "What-"

"The security guards," Omi's voice cut through his. "Aya, did you-"

"They're safe. We rang the fire service, they're on their way."

Omi gave a sigh of relief. Yohji's eyes darted to the rear view mirror: Ken had taken Omi's hand in his and was holding it tight. That would be sweet, if it wasn't for the look in Omi's eyes as he caught Yohji's in reflection.

Yohji pulled his seatbelt on, trying not to cringe. Or at least, not to let it show. "What the fuck was that?"

"A trap," said Aya. He didn't seem particularly annoyed, at least. He even gave Yohji a little smile; he looked... well, relieved.

"Set by?"

"Schwartz." The smile vanished, the single word dripping with venom and hatred.

Schuldig had kidnapped Aya-chan, handed her over for Eszett to experiment on...

Yohji felt suddenly sick inside. Unable to look Aya in the face all of a sudden, he stared out of the window, counting lampposts as they raced along the highway back to Tokyo.

* * * * * * *

"I want you to tell me what happened, Yohji-kun. It's very important you don't leave anything out."

Yohji shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. He was perched on the edge of his bed, sitting on his hands, wishing Omi's inquisition were over, so that he could get on with forgetting the whole sordid episode. Preferably with the aid of a bottle or two of sake.

"It was an accident," he said. "I'm really sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I guess he was trying to distract me. Part of the trap and everything. It won't happen again, I promise. I'm sorry, Omittchi."

He gave Omi his most pleading look, but he was up against the master here. Omi managed to fit into those impossibly blue eyes a cocktail of disappointment, concern and innocence that served to make Yohji feel like the worst sort of traitor. And a pervert to boot.

"I need details," said Omi. And then, probably catching the alarm in Yohji's expression, "I have a theory." A delicate blush spread across his cheeks.

Yohji could only hope that it was the sort of theory that would stop Omi from being too specific in his mission report. Kritiker wouldn't take kindly to this apparent sign of treachery. It was dawning on Yohji that not only was this embarrassing in the extreme, but could be dangerous, too.

"Tell me what happened," said Omi.

Yohji had managed to avoid this conversation for a whole twenty four hours; going straight to bed after the mission the night before, and insisting on paying back his debt of delivery duty to Ken, making sure he didn't come back until Omi was safely on his way back to college for the computer lecture he'd been raving about all week. Except Omi hadn't gone to the lecture. He'd been waiting outside Yohji's room for him.

"You were in the locker room," Omi prompted.

There was no escaping it, then.

"Okay. Um. Well, I was looking around, and he dropped through the ceiling. Like he does. He pointed his gun at me-"

"His gun?"

"Yes, his gun. Metal thing, fires bullets? And at some point, it turned into something else. Then you came in."

"Ah. And, er... how did it turn into something else?"

Yohji took some comfort from the fact that Omi looked almost as uneasy about this whole conversation as he felt himself. "It was kind of sudden. One minute he was trying to kill me, and the next-"

"Did you say anything? Before, I mean?"

"There was a bit of banter. Not much. Doesn't matter, anyway, seeing as he can get right in here." Yohji tapped his forehead. "But I promise, I didn't give away any secrets. I didn't mean for anything like that to happen, it was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to kill the bastard."

"But you didn't put up a fight?"

"I..." Yohji considered a lie, but he didn't stand a hope of it sticking, not with Omi. The kid was too damn perceptive. "I didn't have a lot of choice."

"He forced you?"

"No, not like that... I thought I could turn it to my advantage, you see, only... I made a bad decision. I swear, next time I meet him, he's dead. I wouldn't... Omi, I-"

"Have you had any other unusual... responses from anyone, lately?"

"What, you think I make a habit of screwing targets? Shit, Omi, or course not, I-"

"No, I mean from anyone. In the past twenty four hours or so."

"Unusual? No, I don't..." Yohji paused. Who was he kidding? He'd been like a babe magnet at the club last night. And Manx. Fuck. Was this some kind of Kritiker test? To see if he could control his own vices or something? If it was, he'd spectacularly failed. "I've been a bit luckier than usual, I guess," he said.

"With whom, Yohji-kun?" Omi's voice was low and soft; he was almost as embarrassed as Yohji.

He could protest that this was none of the Omi's business, or Kritiker's for that matter. Last he checked, he could fuck whom he chose. But it never worked out that way. Kritiker owned them, and the kid was in an awkward position here.

"Manx," he said, and then to soften the news, "and these really hot red-heads in the club last night."

"More than one?" Omi's cheeks were flushed scarlet.

"Three," said Yohji.

"And they were all natural redheads?"

"Natural? What the fuck has that got to do with it?"

Omi sighed. "Genetics, Yohji. I think something happened to you when you got contaminated at the lab yesterday."

"Contaminated?"

"You remember, when you and Ken had that incident, and you got splashed with chemicals? Which you inhaled?" There was disapproval in Omi's tone.

"Oh, that. The cherry stuff. But I'm fine, really."

"I've been looking at the data we collected there," Omi scooted off his chair and started to pace. "We know that Masafumi was experimenting on human DNA, to try and create powerful monsters and ultimately achieve his own immortality. The lab we discovered yesterday was working on a breeding program, to get the creatures to mate with each other - or possibly humans, I can't quite work that out from the notes - to improve the stability of the transformations. And breed a whole army of mutated monsters for Eszett."

Panic clenched in Yohji's stomach. He remembered those monsters all too vividly. "I'm not going to go Jekyll and Hyde here, am I?"

"No, I don't think so."

"You don't think so?! Shit, you're freaking me out here, Omi. What have you found out?"

"There's no cause for alarm," said Omi. His tone was reassuring, but Yohji would have felt a lot better if it weren't for the lingering confusion that was plain in those huge blue eyes. "I had Birman get some tests done. Your DNA's intact, and there's nothing in that fluid that seems capable of harming you. But..."

Why did there always have to be a but? "But what, Omi? Come on, spit it out."

Omi stopped pacing, and leaned against the dresser. "It's changed your voice, and it seems to alter your pheromones, Yohji-kun. That's the chemicals your body releases to attract people of the opposite-"

"I know what pheromones are, thanks." Yohji frowned as understanding began to dawn. "You mean I'm irresistible?"

"Yes. Specifically, it would appear, to one people with a particular genetic profile."

It didn't take a genius to work that one out. "Redheads." Yohji's grin became a smirk. "I'm a redhead magnet."

Omi coughed. "So it would appear. But, Yohji, it's not something to be taken lightly. Attraction of this kind... it's a powerful thing."

"I'm used to being popular. I can handle myself."

"This is different. We don't know how powerful the effects are. What if you were to turn down one of these ardent admirers? If the urges are strong, they could get nasty."

"I can handle it, believe me. Now I know what it is."

Omi just looked at him, nibbling on his lower lip.

"What?"

"I'm working on an antidote," he said. "But in the meanwhile - it might be a good idea to stay out of, um... danger."

Temptation, he meant. "I can handle it."

"Maybe. But what about your, er... people who, um..." Omi was blushing again, for some reason.

"I suppose it could get in the way of missions," Yohji conceded.

"Aya," Omi choked out.

Yohji laughed. "Aya? You think Aya is going to be seduced by a few stray hormones?"

"He has the genetic profile. And he has been acting strangely around you."

"He has?" Yohji thought back over the past few days. Surely Aya hadn't been treating him any differently... except. Oh. Memories popped into Yohji's head, things he hadn't really noticed at the time: the odd smile, a look or two, that sense of quiet unease instead of the usual cold irritation that Aya seemed to experience around him. Nothing that would be unusual for anyone else, but for Aya...

"It might be nothing," said Omi doubtfully. "But it would be better if you're careful."

"Don't worry. You know Aya. Whatever his hormones are telling him, he wouldn't stoop so low as to play with the likes of me."

Omi gave him a thoughtful look, and opened his mouth to say something, only to close it again. "Yes," he said eventually. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Yohji-kun." He pushed away from the dresser and smoothed invisible creases out of his shorts. "I'd better get to work. The sooner we can find the antidote..."

"The sooner the redheads of Tokyo are safe from the Kudoh-Yohji love machine." Yohji grinned. "Thanks, Omi."

Omi smiled, and turned to the door.

"Oh, and Omi... there's no need to say anything about any of this to Aya, right?"

"About Schuldig?"

"The whole thing. You know what he's like. There's no need for him to know, is there?"

Omi hesitated, his hand on the smooth wooden handle of Yohji's door. "I suppose not," he said, eventually. "Just be careful, Yohji-kun. Please?"

"Of course, Chibi," said Yohji, trying to stop the relief from showing. "Aren't I always?"

Omi gave him a grin. He almost looked convinced.

Almost.

* * * * * * *

Aya knew there was something that Omi wasn't telling him. But it wasn't only Aya he wasn't telling it to. Aya had checked Omi's reports, and he'd overheard him talking to Ken earlier, changing the subject neatly when it got around to what exactly happened back at the lab. Ken hadn't even noticed, probably not caring much about the mission in his haste to get inside Omi's shorts again.

Which hadn't taken long. They'd rushed upstairs a bare ten minutes later, Omi blushing furiously, Ken mumbling a few excuses about needing to get Omi to look at his groin injury.

Aya huffed to himself, pushed his reading glasses up his nose, and tried to focus on the book on his lap. He'd read the same sentence enough times that he should have memorised it, but it still wasn't sinking in. As soon as he tried to concentrate, his mind filled with thoughts of big green eyes, of skin stretched tight over slender hips, of dirty-blond hair that begged to be touched. The rich, deep voice that sounded like sin.

He threw the book on his bed in disgust. Two hours 'til dawn, no hope of sleep, and it was taking every bit of resolve he could muster to stop him from slipping next door to Yohji's room.

This was intolerable.

* * * * * * *

Yohji sat in the narrow window seat, staring out on the streets of Tokyo and smoking. He'd resisted the urge to test Omi's theory in the bars and clubs. It was one thing to be everyone's favourite Kudoh Yohji by the grace of his own natural talent. But this was different. This was... cheating. And ungentlemanly.

So that's where Aya found him; dressed in hip-high jeans and a soft, baggy sweater, drinking sake and trying not to think too hard.

"What happened?"

"And good evening to you, too, Aya. What's up, can't you sleep?"

"Just tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened. Want some of this?" He waved the half-empty bottle. "There's another glass on the bookcase over there." Aya hesitated for a moment, then nodded, fetched the glass and held it out to be filled.

His hand was shaking. "So? Are you going to tell me, or shall I ask Omi?"

"You can ask who you like. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh." Aya slumped on the edge of Yohji's bed. "So he hasn't told you, either."

"Apparently not. What makes you think he has something to tell?"

Aya gave him another suspicious look. He wasn't an easy man to lie to. "I don't know," he said. "But there's something."

"Maybe it's a surprise," said Yohji.

Aya snorted, and took a swig of his sake.

His tongue darted out to lick a stray drop from the edge of the glass; it was pink and glistening, and Yohji couldn't take his eyes off it, still gazing at Aya's mouth when it had popped back inside. Imagining what it would taste like: sake and however Aya usually tasted; fresh, Yohji guessed, clean and good and... He surreptitiously adjusted his pants.

And then Aya's tongue came out again, and this time it licked slowly across Aya's lips, bottom first, then the top, moistening dry skin and sending a surge of desire straight to Yohji's groin.

Their eyes met, and the breath caught in Yohji's throat. He'd never seen desire so strong, so fierce, as that which shone in Aya's heated gaze. Aya didn't simply want him. It ran deeper than that. Much, much deeper. Hunger. Need.

Yohji couldn't resist. The chance would never come again; this was the perfect, the only opportunity to have Aya for himself. To put an end to years of wondering and fantasizing, to live out his dream and put it to rest. He got to his feet and crossed the few paces between them to refill Aya's glass, dipping his head at the last moment to steal a kiss from those damp lips.

Aya tasted of sake, and sweet and fresh and everything Yohji had dreamed of. He didn't pull away. A trembling arm slid around Yohji's waist, holding him there as Aya took the kiss long, opening his mouth and darting that tongue out again, this time to slip against Yohji's, circling and tasting and flicking at his teeth. Lips soft and noses bumping, strands of red silk blending with rough blond. Heavenly.

Then Aya was leaning back on the bed, tugging Yohji down with him, barely giving him time to set the sake bottle on the nightstand before he started to kiss him again. Dimly aware of Aya's shot glass falling to the floor with a dull thud, Yohji nuzzled Aya's hair, breathing in the scent of him, shampoo and out-of-doors; Aya nipped at Yohji's lower lip, sucked it between his own and ran his tongue across it. Arched his neck back, scrubbing his hair on the comforter, inviting Yohji to kiss and lick at his throat.

But even as Yohji revelled in taste and touch and the strong throb of Aya's pulse under his lips, his conscience stirred. This wasn't fair. It wasn't really what Aya wanted. It was Masafumi's potion. And if he ever found out... even if he didn't find out, he'd change his mind when the effects wore off, and then what? Then he'd feel bad, and he'd hate Yohji, and they'd lose whatever this was they'd always had. This strange, brutal friendship they'd forged by fighting back to back; built on trust and an odd sort of respect.

He couldn't do it.

With a whimper of pure longing, Yohji rolled off Aya and sat up, reached for the sake and took a long pull.

"Yohji..." And damn if Aya's voice wasn't the most seductive thing Yohji had heard, all of a sudden. His voice and his eyes and his rich, beautiful hair. Irresistible.

"I have to tell you something," he said, fast, before he could change his mind.

Aya was still stretched out on the bed, propped up on his elbows to regard Yohji through his ragged crimson fringe. "What?"

"You... I... this isn't right. It's not us. It's my fault."

Aya's expression hardened. He sat up, and ran his long fingers through his hair. Embarrassed, probably. Oh shit.

"Yesterday, at the lab. That stuff that got on me when Ken and I were messing about. It had side effects."

Aya glared at him, as if he were making it up.

"It makes me seem more... attractive. You wouldn't normally do this. I wouldn't normally do this, not with you." Wait, that came out wrong. Where was the old Kudoh charm when he needed it? "That is... not under these circumstances."

Aya snorted. "You don't have to lie to me. I get the idea."

"No, no, you don't. Fuck, Aya... it's not like I don't... you can ask Omi. It's some kind of pheromone stimulator. This is just your hormones talking, and they're lying to you."

"What?"

"Ask Omi, if you don't believe me."

There was a long silence. Yohji expected Aya to get off the bed and storm out of the room. But he didn't. He just sat there, staring at his own feet.

"You'd better leave," Yohji eventually forced himself to say. "I'm not used to these bouts of nobility. I might change my mind and take advantage of you after all."

"Take advantage? You arrogant bastard! What do you think I am? One of your women? Don't flatter yourself, Kudoh."

"You don't understand, it's not-"

"No, you're the one who doesn't understand." And with that Yohji was pushed suddenly and violently back on the bed; in an instant Aya was straddling his thighs, a hand on each shoulder pinning him down, eyes glittering at him. "What makes you think you're the one taking advantage?"

Yohji opened his mouth to make some kind of feeble protest, but Aya simply filled it with his tongue. Yohji melted under his kiss. There were hands shoving his sweater clear of his belly, smoothing over ribs.

"Aya... ungh... what exactly have you got in mind?"

Aya raised his head, shook his hair out of his eyes.

"I was going to fuck you into the mattress until you beg me to stop," he said.

Yohji swallowed hard. "Fuck me?"

"Yeah," said Aya. "Think you can take it?"

"No," murmured Yohji, faintly. "No, I don't think I... oh..." The last of Yohji's resolve faded away as Aya bent to kiss him again, soft with a nip to his tongue. Yohji had no resistance to those kisses. He found himself popping the buttons of Aya's shirt, slipping the soft fabric over strong shoulders, running his fingers down the smooth skin of Aya's back. Aya had taken his lips to Yohji's throat and chest, to one stiff, eager nipple, assaulting it with sharp teeth one minute, soothing it with soft tongue the next. The sweater was tugged off and cast to the floor; long fingers trailed down Yohji's belly to grip the beltless waistband of his jeans. More kisses, deep and wet, tongues swirling, Aya's hair tickling his cheek, Aya's knuckles pressing against his rock-hard dick. Yohji made a feeble attempt at returning the compliment, but Aya was already shuffling back to strip him, cursing when the zipper stuck, tugging jeans and shorts down Yohji's thighs with a satisfied grunt.

Yohji had a sudden vision of Aya going down on him, and it was all he could do to stop himself coming on the spot. But Aya was already scooting back up the bed, crouching over him, kissing him again. Yohji fumbled with Aya's jeans, managing to get the first two buttons open before Aya distracted him, his hand wrapping around Yohji's cock and gripping it firmly, thumb spreading wetness over the tip. Stroking him, slow and sure.

It occurred to Yohji that Aya had obviously done this before. Which was a surprise, but one he could live with. Especially as Aya started to explore, pausing to cup his balls gently in his palm while his fingertips reached behind them, tickling the sensitive ridge of flesh between cock and ass. Yohji found himself spreading his legs in invitation, as wide as he could, hips lifting off the bed as Aya began to tease his asshole. His own trembling hands went back to grappling with the buttons of Aya's jeans, finally managing to get them popped open and his hand inside, fumbling with soft cotton for a moment until he found the slit in Aya's boxers. He held his breath as he reached inside; he'd often wondered what Aya's dick was like, and now...

It was silky smooth, almost as thick as his own and possibly a little longer. Foreskin drawn tightly over the tip, needing a gentle tug to pull it back. Aya grunted when he did that, and again when Yohji squeezed the shaft, not too hard, not too gentle; he dipped his hand lower to cradle Aya's balls, surprised to find them smooth and hairless. That was unexpected, but a turn on, nonetheless. Yohji let the image of Aya shaving himself play out in his mind, and found it more than a little inspiring.

Meanwhile, Aya was shifting to kneel between Yohji's long legs, stroking Yohji's thighs and hips, enjoying this as much as Yohji was, if the expression on his face was anything to go by: eyes half-hooded, the faintest of smiles and that little tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Aya reached into his pocket and produced a small tube of something. Lubricant? Wow, who'd have thought Aya would carry? But Yohji wasn't about to think too hard about that now. Not when Aya was slipping his finger between his lips and wetting it; swirling his tongue around it before returning it to Yohji's ass. Probing there, even as he flipped the cap on the lube. Slipping the tip of his finger just a little way inside Yohji's body, enough to make him gasp and arch, and spread his legs still wider.

His eyes were closed by the time he felt the lube trickle down his skin to pool in the dip of his asshole. Aya spread it around with sure, knowing fingers, all around the rim before the fingers pushed inside of him. Slow and careful.

"Damn, but you're tight," Aya said. "You have done this before, I take it?"

"Yes!" said Yohji, indignant. "It's just been a while, that's all."

"Tell me if it hurts," said Aya, and it sounded like he meant it. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Kiss me," said Yohji, gruffly, because he knew that if Aya was kissing him he would stop thinking, and if there was pain he wouldn't care, and it wouldn't show, and Aya wouldn't stop. And sure enough, as Aya's mouth moved over his, slow and firm and determined, his body started to relax. Aya made a little growl of approval and sank his fingers deeper, searching, twisting so that his wrist gently stroked Yohji's balls. It was bliss, yearning, intolerable bliss.

"Is that good?" Aya's voice had a gentle quality to it that Yohji hadn't heard before. Except, maybe, that time he'd caught him talking to his plants in the greenhouse. And then it had disappeared all too quickly when Aya had realised he wasn't alone.

"Very."

Aya nuzzled Yohji's ear, dropping little kisses on his neck and in his hair. "You want it?"

More than anything. More than his next breath. "Yes."

He could feel Aya smiling against his skin; the fingers flicked at the place inside of him that made him melt, and Yohji surrendered. "Please. Fuck me. Please."

It wasn't easy; however much Yohji wanted it, his body wasn't used to doing this without being a good deal drunker, and it mattering a good deal less, and it resisted. Yohji was close to weeping with frustration, feeling all at once empty and hard and wanting, but at the same time that coil of fear and guilt inside. This wasn't right. Aya didn't know what he was doing. Aya would regret it afterwards, and if Yohji lived through whatever form that regret might take, they'd lose everything, the friendship that had come to mean so much to him, the trust and quiet dependency... and then it was too late. His body relented, and Aya popped inside, and it was too late. Aya's cock filled him, an inch at a time, so slowly it drove him mad. It didn't hurt - Aya was being too careful for that - but it stung like mad and Yohji could barely breathe, it was so intense and impossible and...

"It's okay," Aya whispered, his cheek warm against Yohji's, his lips soft and damp as they brushed his nose. "Easy, Yohji. It's okay."

He looked up, searching for something more than reassurance in Aya's eyes.

"Now," he said, a small, choked sound. "Fuck me. Now."

Aya kissed him, pulled halfway out of Yohji's body before he sank back inside. Still kissing; his tongue sliding against Yohji's in the same rhythm as his strokes, long and slow and strong. Yohji squeezed his eyes shut, wishing things were different, that he had earned this, really earned it, by being the lover that Aya deserved, not by some accident of Masafumi's twisted ambition. It was so good, and so wrong, and yes, it hurt. It hurt in a deep, dark place that Yohji thought he'd shut down a long time ago, that he kept hidden, covered up by chance encounters and meaningless nights with strangers.

Aya stopped. "Yohji-"

Yohji's eyes blinked open; something wet ran down the side of his face to his ear. "I'm sorry, Aya," he breathed. "I'm sorry."

Aya gazed steadily at him for a few moments before he spoke. "Don't be," he said.

And then he started to move again, his gaze locked with Yohji's; he brushed Yohji's lower lip with his fingers and Yohji sucked them in. He wrapped his legs around Aya's back and watched the heat build in Aya's eyes, knowing it must be reflected in his own. Aya was biting his lip, face drawn in concentration. Thrusting harder now, faster, sleek hips pumping, thighs flexing. Strong. Beautiful. Yohji felt him come, suddenly and violently, slamming into Yohji's body and crying out, his cock swollen and spitting inside of him. Still shaking when he pulled out, the last few spurts landing on Yohji's thigh as he desperately slithered down the bed to take Yohji's cock in his mouth, engulfing the head while his fingers plunged in Yohji's ass. Yohji's senses screamed at him, and oh, fuck, but Aya was dabbling those long fingers in his hole, slick with the come he'd just put there, and with that thought Yohji's whole body spasmed and he yelled and came in Aya's mouth, balls so tight it hurt, and it was wrong and good and impossible and wonderful and bliss for the space of a minute.

Then the world refocussed around him; Aya was backing off, Yohji's fingers slipping from his hair, and he was lying there, still shuddering, his cock softening, balls throbbing, and alone.

"Aya?" The word came out thin and needy, desperate, even; Yohji had already started to despise himself.

"Shh," came Aya's voice, a little ragged maybe, but mostly his usual assured tone. Something damp and roughish was stroking his thigh and between his legs; a washcloth. Aya was cleaning him off. He opened his eyes.

"Stay," said Yohji, and braced himself for rejection.

There was a pause.

"I need to go." But there was reluctance there. "I'm on first shift. But..."

Yohji held his breath.

"Thank you," whispered Aya.

And with a final kiss to Yohji's trembling lips, he was gone.

* * * * * * *

Aya took a sip of tea, then rested the mug on the bench beside the seed trays he'd carefully prepared. He took his pencil - the special one, just the right thickness for the job, and dragged it through the compost in neat lines. Then he wiped the pencil on his apron and tucked it behind his ear, took a pinch of seeds from the thick envelope where he'd carefully dried and stored them, and sowed them in their little furrow.

Nigella. For Aya-chan. Because they were her favourite, and although she'd only be home for a few short months, he knew the pleasure she'd take from watching the tiny plants grow, from helping him plant them out and nurture them, from remembering them and asking him how they were doing every time she wrote. And next vacation they'd be in bloom.

He paused to open the window a little wider; the sun was warm already. It was going to be a hot day. Fresh morning air drifted into the greenhouse, ruffling his hair. A sudden memory: fingers touching his scalp; lips brushing his neck and a beautiful, willing body arching under his.

He smiled.

Aya ran his fingers over the earth, covering the seeds with compost crumbs, enough to keep them safe in the dark, not so heavy they couldn't throw off the dirt when it was time for them to wake and reach for the sun.

He set the tray on the watering mat, and reached for another.

* * * * * * *

After Aya had left him that morning, Yohji had turned his back on the rising sun and managed to sleep for a few hours. He woke close to noon, to the sound of Ken's fist banging on his door and telling him to get his lazy ass out of bed.

Yohji dragged himself to the shower, wincing as his muscles protested. Damn. The last thing he needed was to go limping into the shop like a freshly-deflowered virgin.

Fortunately the hot water helped a lot, easing some of the tension out of his body. He would have stayed there for a long time, had it not been for Ken, who would probably show no compunction in physically dragging him out of the bathroom if necessary. If Yohji remembered the rota right, Ken and Omi were due to go and scope out a church they were decorating for a wedding, while Yohji and Aya minded the shop. Kenken wouldn't be too pleased if Yohji deprived him of a couple of hours alone with Omi.

So he got out of the shower sooner than he would have liked, snagged his wet hair in a ponytail, and pulled on the first clean clothes that came to hand.

Aya was already in the shop, cleaning down the worktable, brushing the bits of ribbon and stalk into the bin he held at the table's edge. It was Momoe-san's day off, and it looked as though Ken and Omi had already left. They were alone.

Aya didn't look mad. He looked unusually serene, content, even. Maybe he hadn't worked out the truth, yet.

"Aya."

He looked up, but his eyes darted away before Yohji got more than a faint sense of disquiet in his expression. "Yohji."

He had to say something. He owed Aya that much. And more. "I owe you an apology."

"I don't think so." Aya set the bin on the table, and started to pick little bits of stalk out of the cracks in the grain.

"It's not that I didn't want it to happen. I used to think... but I know you're not interested, you wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for the pheromone thing, and I should have respected that. I feel like shit. I'm sorry."

"It wasn't that. It was your voice."

"My voice?"

"The first time I heard your voice, when you found me in your bed that time... I wanted you then. I've always wanted you."

Yohji stared at him, aching inside. That just made it worse. Aya had wanted him? All these years?

Thing was, somewhere inside that struck a chord. Perhaps he'd known, deep down, that there was more than friendship between them. But it had got too complicated, too dangerous to contemplate. Never the right time.

And now it was too late. There's no way Aya would forgive him for taking advantage of a moment's weakness like that.

There were a few stray leaves on the floor around the table; Yohji went down on one knee to gather them up. "You must be mad at me," he said, eventually, because the silence was getting stifling. "I don't blame you. I should have tried harder to stop you." He looked up, dropping his collection of litter into the bin Aya held out to him.

There was something about Aya's expression: he didn't look angry. Not at all. He looked a little sad, maybe, but not angry. Not hurt.

He couldn't look Yohji in the eye.

"Aya?"

"I lied to you." Aya's voice was low, his gaze fixed on the table. "I knew about the accident. I tracked down Omi last night, before I came to see you. He told me all about it."

So much for Omi's promise. "I'll kill him," Yohji muttered. "That was supposed to be our little secret."

"I sort of... tricked him," said Aya. "I knew there was something, and I guessed it was to do with you. He looked so angry at you when you got in the car that night. I let him think you'd already told me."

"You outsmarted Omi?" That was some going, even for Aya.

"He was... distracted. Ken was in the shower, and apparently he'd forgotten his soap. Omi appeared very anxious to take it to him."

They shared a quick, knowing smile. It made Yohji feel warm inside.

"So you knew," he said. "So what? Knowing something like that doesn't mean you have any control over it."

"I've been controlling things for a long time," said Aya.

"But-"

"It had already worn off, Yohji."

Yohji had to run that piece of news through his mind a second time before he could fully absorb it. "Worn off?"

"Omi was going to tell you himself, but I told him I'd pass on the message. Not that it took a lot of persuading, with Ken's urgent need for soap and all."

Yohji stared at him, as this new information sank into his brain. "Oh. Then-"

Aya had tricked him. Aya had let him think it was all down to Masafumi's evil love potion, when really... Aya wanted him. Aya had wanted him all along.

"I didn't know," said Aya, softly. "I didn't think you felt that way. Not until... and by then it was too late."

No. Not too late. Not too late at all.

Yohji stood up, and wiped his hands on his apron, pulled Aya roughly into his arms, guilt free, and kissed him. Long, and deep, and tasting sweet, and only letting go when the bell above the door rang. And then, only just.

He served the girl with all his usual charm despite his racing heartbeat, allowing himself a few brief glimpses of Aya, who looked remarkably unflurried, apart from the subtle flush across his cheekbones, and the heat in his eyes.

And Yohji had to admit to himself, as he shut the cash register and watched her leave with a swish of crimson ponytail, that there was a sense of relief that she had shown no interest in him whatsoever. She hadn't even giggled when he'd winked at her.

But then, he'd been decidedly half hearted about it.

Aya was settled at the worktable now, laying out roses and fern and baby's breath, and rich, red ribbon.

"Hey, Aya." Yohji hitched himself up onto the stool behind the register, head on one side, watching Aya as he started to strip thorns from the rose stems. "You doing anything tonight? I thought maybe we could go get something to eat after work. And maybe catch a movie."

Aya looked at him as if he'd suggested they should put on tutus and dance the nutcracker.

"It's called a date, Aya," he said. "I guess you're out of practice, but I could show you the ropes."

Aya snorted, but Yohji didn't miss the smile that appeared briefly on his face, before he realised and got himself under control.

"So? Seven o'clock alright for you?"

Aya looked at him, his usual intense gaze, but that something else was there again, the heat and wanting that made Yohji weak inside.

"Alright," he said, eventually. "But I'm paying."

Yohji thought that, all things considered, he could live with that.

"If you insist. But next time, it's my turn."

This time, Aya didn't hide his smile.


End file.
